


Glad He's Back

by Calantha2001



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:35:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24853177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calantha2001/pseuds/Calantha2001
Summary: A private moment that ends up not being quite so private.Set in season 7 just after Orpheus. Minor reference to Abyss and The Changeling.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 28





	Glad He's Back

**Author's Note:**

> I swore I wasn't going to write any more fan fic until I made serious progress on my novel, but this scene popped into my head and wouldn't go away. I wrote it as Gen but it can be interpreted as slash.  
> The planet where they rescued Bra'tac and Rya'c was experiencing winter. I took the liberty of having Earth be in August.

Sam reached for her car keys in her pocket, only to remember she was wearing a dress and didn’t have pockets. When she’d arrived at the colonel’s house six hours ago, she’d promptly ditched her purse. Somewhere. She spun, her skirt twirling and brushing her car, and headed to the back deck.

The patio doors were still open to let the night air in to cool the house. Up until about a half hour ago, there had been three more SG teams and other SGC personnel here for the potluck, celebrating the rescue of Teal’c’s son and Bra'tac and the other Jaffa that had been kept as slave labor. People had streamed indoors and out, between the beer keg and grill on the deck, to the kitchen table groaning under the weight of so much food. Chatting. Laughing. Lawn darts. Raucous hands of Liar, played with two decks of cards and at least ten people crowded around the table.

Now less than an hour before midnight, the house and yard were quiet. Everyone had pitched in to clean up and then gone home. Everyone except Sam, and Daniel, who had volunteered to do the dishes.

Her purse wasn’t on the deck. A quick peek around the living room showed she hadn’t left it on the fireplace mantel or by the plant under the window this time, though she did find an empty soda can and wadded-up napkin they’d missed. She set them on the coffee table.

O’Neill was visible through the pass-through, gathering the big bowls that had held guacamole and chips and other dips on the dining table. He headed into the kitchen without noticing her.

Sam lightly ran up the three steps to the hall and into the dining room, her strappy high-heeled sandals silent on the thick carpet. There on the china hutch, its brown leather almost blending into the wood, was her purse. She reached for it and opened her mouth to say good night again, but froze.

O’Neill had set his armload of dishes on the counter next to the sink, where Daniel was up to his elbows in yellow gloves and suds, washing the big serving pieces so all the little stuff would fit in one dishwasher load. Instead of moving away, O’Neill stepped close behind him, wrapped his arms around Daniel’s waist, and rested his chin on Daniel’s shoulder.

Sam stopped breathing.

Daniel went still for a moment, then shut the water off and rested his hands atop O’Neill’s, wet gloves and all. It was so quiet, she could hear soap bubbles popping in the sink. Daniel and the Colonel exchanged a few words, too soft for Sam to make out. O’Neill straightened, his arms still holding Daniel. Daniel followed him, leaning against him until the back of his head rested on O’Neill’s shoulder. She couldn’t see the Colonel’s face from this angle, but Daniel’s eyes were closed, his mouth curved in a tired but contented smile.

Daniel smiled so rarely. He was truly beautiful when he did.

Sam let her breath out slowly, not wanting to make a sound. She’d missed her friend dearly the year he was gone. She tried not to resent the fact he’d appeared to both Teal’c and the Colonel while he was ascended, and not to her. She hadn’t been injured and near death, or repeatedly tortured to death and revived again, so she let it go.

Though he’d returned to them a few months ago sometimes she still found herself aching to wrap him in a big hug, to make sure he was really there, really real. Solid. Apparently the Colonel felt the same way.

She knew he’d grieved Daniel’s death/ascension/whatever, too, but he’d pulled the macho ‘stiff upper lip’ act so much, sometimes she’d wanted to smack him.

Sam wouldn’t have hugged Daniel from behind like this, though. Not for this long. This felt more intimate. Almost like a lover’s embrace.

Well, people had often jokingly said Daniel and the Colonel acted like an old married couple. Good-natured bickering. Finishing each other’s sentences. Speaking in unison.

Neither Daniel nor the Colonel were demonstrative men. It was unusual for either to give or allow to be given much more than a pat on the shoulder. Daniel had a habit of wrapping his arms around himself, sort of a self-hug. Now he was not only allowing but seemed to enjoy being on the receiving end of a bear hug.

Sam decided to tip-toe away, to not intrude farther on what was obviously a private moment. She broke her gaze from the hug to pick up her purse. When she looked up again, O’Neill was crossing the kitchen toward her.

“Carter!” His voice held surprise but not a trace of self-consciousness, his expression open and welcoming. “Thought you’d left.”

“Hard to leave without keys.” She held up her purse, then opened the snap and pulled out her key ring.

“Ah, the danger of going girly for the evening,” he said with a broad smile. “You forget the accessories.” His grin was infectious, and not the least bit mocking. 

“Do you need help with anything else, sir? Daniel’s still washing. I could--” She cut herself off, mesmerized by the sight of a small cluster of soap bubbles clinging halfway up his right forearm.

“Nope,” he said. “But thank you. Just going to take out the trash, and then we’re going to have a nightcap on the deck,” he pointed up, toward the observation deck on the roof, “see if we can spot some meteors.” When he lowered his arm, the last bubble had popped. He picked up the full trash bag she hadn’t noticed until then, that was leaning against a chair leg, and tied the drawstrings closed. “Walk you to your car?”

“Thank you, sir.” They passed through the open front door, light from the hall spilling out to the walkway and down the steps. A streetlight illuminated the end of the driveway, but otherwise the yard disappeared into inky darkness. The sky was clear with no moon, stars twinkling on black velvet. It was a perfect night for viewing the Perseids. 

O’Neill dropped the trash bag near the garage and they kept walking. Crickets chirped, and somewhere not far an owl hooted. Sam unlocked her car door and opened it, then turned to him before she got in. “I’m so glad he’s back.”

O’Neill’s face was mostly in shadow but the porch light caught his eyes, making the brown irises almost sherry-colored, and the hard planes of his face seemed to soften. “Yeah,” he said after a beat, his voice thick with emotion. He slowly nodded. “Me, too.”

She flashed him a smile to lighten the suddenly somber mood. “See you Monday.” She climbed in behind the wheel.

“Monday,” he said, and shut her door.

By the time she’d buckled and started the car and put it into reverse, he’d dropped the trash bag in the garbage can and stood next to it. Brightly lit by the car’s headlights, he gave her a wave, his distinctive thumb impossibly curved backward, before he bounded up the steps and into his house.

To Daniel. And stargazing.


End file.
